They were in love. They were together in the way only teenagers can be: oblivious to the honks and yells of truckers, to the disapproving stares of old ladies and the sad, envious glances of old men. Sitting on a couple of milk crates borrowed from the Jewel down the street, they’d set themselves up in front of a pay phone, and it looked like they might never leave. The girl was sitting in her boyfriend’s lap kicking her legs restlessly, one hand softly rubbing his back, the other hand holding an enormous slice of pizza. The phone was cradled between her shoulder and neck. The guy had his arms wrapped around her so tightly it looked as if she were locked up. They were eating pizza, kissing, and talking on the phone–all at the same time. It was impressive.
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On a corner across the street a few of their friends were taunting the pair and laughing at them. But then, for no clear reason, they began waving frantically, trying to get the guy’s attention.
“What are you doing with her?”
“Bullshit. You’re kissing her and feeling her up and shit like that and she’s just a friend of yours? You told me I was your girlfriend.”
Paul mumbled and dragged his feet as the two girls began screaming insults back and forth, the small crowd egging both of them on. Finally, the second girl, her eyes wild and spinning, pointed a finger at her new rival and broke into a lyrical tirade.
“It’s Paul’s mom!” shouted a guy in a tone of complete astonishment.
“Hello? Hello?” he said with a serious look on his face. “I have a news bulletin…I have a news bulletin…Paul’s in trouble…big trouble…woman trouble…”
